


Bulimia Blues

by ta_Dia_marbh



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Mentions of Suicide, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Scout has issues, Slice of Life, Tags May Change, Tags will be edited as the story progresses, Who Knows?, miss pauling is a lesbian, no one is homophobic because i have to power to make them so, spy tries to be a dad, the story takes place about 1970, the team's a big family, will i ever finish this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ta_Dia_marbh/pseuds/ta_Dia_marbh
Summary: (WARNING: GRAPHIC DETAILS ABOUT EATING DISORDERS, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE)Scout hated his body. It was too fat, too scrawny, too..not perfect. He exercised constantly and always tried to avoid eating if he could, and he had been doing a good job, both doing it and keeping it a secret from his teammates. But when a team cookout is taking place, how long can he keep his disorder a secret?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, as stated in the tags, summary, and title, this story focuses on Scout's eating disorder. This is not to romanticise or glorify it. If you or someone you know is dealing with an eating disorder, I'll leave sites you can visit and numbers you can visit below.
> 
> \- http://www.waldeneatingdisorders.com/eating-disorder-treatment/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwz93cBRCrARIsAEFbWsi_T64I1RwU7H6lHZcnp-bt_REkCWgSozH6Ia9HC4v_tbYrVEUNgRMaAnD5EALw_wcB
> 
> \- https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
> 
> \- https://www.bulimia.com/topics/eating-disorder-hotline/

It had been a good day for the RED team. After beating the crap out of each and every BLU several times, they all earned themselves an early ceasefire. It was Friday afternoon, and normally they would be fighting, but instead, they were relaxing with a good old-fashioned Barbeque. 

Engineer was in charge of the grilling and was currently fighting Pyro away from the flames with a spatula. ("Pyro put the gunpowder down, we don't need it.") Soldier was trying to keep one of his numerous raccoons away from Medic, who was ranting on about wanting to do ''check up'' on them. The chloroform in his hand didn't help his case. Demo had challenged Heavy to a drinking contest, having brought out only the finest of his beloved scrumpy. Heavy had countered by disappearing, only to reappear with six bottles of Russian vodka in his arms. Sniper had joined in on the contest, having a jug of his family's moonshine to offer. Spy was nowhere to be found, but was probably off in his smoking room or terrorizing the other team. The only person who didn't seem to be joining the fun was the Scout, who for once was quiet and picking at his burnt charred ribs.

"Ey, you al'ight boyo?" 

Scout's head shot up towards Demo, who despite being shit faced, still cared about the youngest team member. His one eye, hazy as always, was focused right on him. Heavy and Sniper didn't seem to notice, lazily sipping on their alcoholic beverage of choice. None of them seem to notice the moonshine seeping from Sniper's jug. It made a small puddle on the ground, having burned through the table itself.

"O' course man! I just ain't feeling too good. Musta had too much Bonk!, ya know?" Scout said, waving away the concern. Demo rose an eyebrow and squinted his one eye. Maybe if he wasn't completely drunk, he would have questioned him more. But instead, he shrugged it off, taking another shot of scrumpy.

"Boy, ah'm always tell' ya, ya'll do not need that much sugar in ya body. It ruins your appetite" Engineer called over, having successfully distracted the Pyro with a coloring book and crayons. Good. More sugar meant more energy, more energy means more running fast, more running means more wins. It also meant his stomach wouldn't be able to hold much food without feeling sick, which was just fine by him. Scout shrugged and went back to picking at his food. Engineer's eyebrows furrowed and he met eyes with Demo. 

"Hey, if you don't like 'em, ya don't have to eat 'em. Ah know it ain't my best cookin'." Engineer turned away from Scout, watching the meat on the grill carefully. Scout leaned back in his chair, thinking back to his earlier meals, wondering if it was worth breaking his teeth on the charred meat to get food in him. So far, a small bundle of grapes, two granola bars and about seven cans of Bonk!. His stomach grumbled and he looked down at his food. Everyone always talked about how good Engie's cooking was, talking on and on about his skills and the grill. Maybe a little won't hurt...Scout carefully picked up the meat on his plate and took a small bite. 

His eyes widened at the burst of flavor in his mouth. God damn, the guys weren't kidding around! It tasted pretty good, a nice smokey and tangy taste seemed to dance on his tongue and before the young man knew it, he was stuffing his face. Rib after burnt rib went into to him. It was only after he was done, that he had regrets. What had he done? How many calories are in ribs? What about BBQ sauce? He could feel the sticky barbecue sauce on his face. a wave of nausea ran over the runner. He ate too much. How could he be so stupid! He had to go. He had to go and- 

Scout abruptly stood up, his chair falling behind him. He suddenly felt very nervous, his mouth as dry as the land around them and his palms dampening the bandages around his hands. The chair crashed into the cooler, causing everything in it to spill on the ground. He tried to fix his mess, but too little, too late. This time, he had everyone's attention. There was a slightly awkward silence as Medic put down the suspicious rag in his hand and walked over to the younger man.

"Mein freudian, are you sure you are alright?" Medic said. And as he got closer, Scout could see the look in the German's eye. He knew that look. Medic only got that look when he was about to go on a long tangit about health, or when he would scold someone for not standing still long enough to let him heal them. It was probably the former the German wanted to talk about, seeing how they weren't in battle.

"Wait, wh- No, I'm fine. I...I just remember my Ma said to call her earlier an' i forgot." Scout exclaimed, backing up slightly. He could practically see the wave of relief that went over the team. They thought it was something serious! Everyone knew how much Scout cared about his mother and brothers. It was the perfect excuse, no one would suspect him. The runner smiled, picking his chair back up. The team could clean up the rest. He set it upright and pointed back to the base.

"I'll be right back, just gonna check in with her. Don't wanna worry her, so...yeah. see ya."  
And before anyone could stop him, Scout ran back to the base faster than anyone on the team had ever seen him go. There was a moment where everything was relatively calm, until Pyro lit the small puddle of moonshine on the ground on fire, causing the table Demo, Heavy, and Sniper sat at to caught fire, along with the copious amounts of alcohol on it.

===================================================================  
"C'mon man. Ya done this before, you can do it again."  
Scout leaned on the bathroom door, his shaky hand instinctively going to lock it. Breath in, breath out.  
in...  
"What would Ma think? What would ya brothas think? They'd think ya were sum kinda pussy, sum wimpy lil' shit! A whiny, attention seeking jerkface..."  
out...  
His eyes met the toilet and his stomach churned. He'd had not purged in a while and he could practically feel the fat on him.  
in...  
The Boston man took heavy steps towards the porcelain throne and knelt in front of it, wrinkling his nose. He could do this.  
out...  
He slowly lifted the seat and leaned over the bowl, sticking two fingers into his mouth. He jammed them at the back of his throat, already feeling the bile in his gut rise. And as Scout forced himself to throw up, he lost his train of thought, focusing only on ridding himself of the food in his stomach.

================================================  
"'Ey, butterball!"  
Jeremy looked up, his eight-year-old eyes widening in fear. Whenever one of his brother's called him, it was either for teasing or for a beating. His oldest brother, Ricky, stood at the doorway. In his hand was an empty container of cheesecake, and the look on Ricky's face revealed his thoughts.

"I-i-i didn-" he managed to stutter out, but was interrupted as his older brother punched the wall with his free hand.

"Bullshit! You always doin' this kinda shit! Always takin' what ain't yours!"

Jeremy sat there as Ricky continued to scream and curse at him. Fatass. Wimp. Useless. It didn't stop until his mom came into the room, screaming her own profanities at her son. Ricky skulked off, but not before glaring at his little brother and saying

"No one wants you here, ya know. You're just another mistake."

This earned Ricky a smack from his mother and more of her screaming. Ricky just went out of the small apartment, slamming the door behind him. He would most likely be gone all night, hanging out with his 'friends' and getting into all kinds of trouble. the little boy let his tears fall as his mom knelt down and confronted him.

"Shh, it's ok, puddin', he didn' mean it. He's just bein' a dick." His mother cooed, holding her baby boy to her bosom. Jeremy sniffled and looked up at his mother. He could see how tired she was from her double shift, the wrinkles, and bags under her eyes that she tried to hide with makeup. Her old red dress, all broken seams and worn fabric, seem to fit the single mother nicely. Her black heels, thrift store bought like all of their clothes, topped the dress off nice enough. It was really the only thing she wore. Maybe it was her only outfit. 

"Ma, what's a dick?" The little boy asked innocently. Scout's mom paused for a minute, possibly in shock, before a burst of laughter came from her. She continued to laugh, holding little Jeremy to her. He didn't know what he did, but hearing his ma laugh seem to make everything better. He hugged her as best as she could, his pudgy arms around her midsection.

"I love ya, Ma."

Jeremy felt his mother's hand on his head, rubbing it affectionately. 

"I love ya too, my little butterball." 

And as she pulled away, no one noticed the frown on the eight-year old's face.  
\--  
twelve-year-old Jeremy stood in front of his bedroom mirror, shirtless and looking disdainfully at himself. He could point out everything wrong with him. Too much 'baby fat' as ma called it, Too short, not enough muscle. As his older brothers pointed out, he'd never be a real man with muscle. God, he was pathetic. He was putting back on his shirt when the bedroom door opened and one of his brothers, Thomas, walked in. As much as he hated sharing a room with all of his brothers, he didn't mind Thomas. He always gave Jeremey his food and encouraged him to work out, even gave him advice on girls. After all, Thomas knew what he was talking about. He was possibly the manliest man the pre-teen had ever seen. If anyone knew how to get fit quick, it was him.

"H-hey, Tommy! i got a question for ya." Jeremy ran over to his older brother, his face lighting up. Thomas chuckled and put Jeremy in a headlock, nooging him. The younger boy laughed and struggled to free himself. He was used to this kind of treatment, though. It was his brother's way of affection.

"What's up, lil' bro?" Thomas asked, finally releasing Jeremy. The young boy rubbed his head and smiled, showing off his buck teeth. He followed Thomas to his side of the room, where he proceeded to jump on his brother's bunk bed. Since he was older, he had the top bunk and therefore the coolest bunk.

"Teach me how to be tough! Ya know, like you! Thin and sleek and shit!" Jeremy demanded, flopping down on his older brother's sheets. His older brother froze, mid opening his dresser. The Boston boy, after a lack of response, looked down to look at his teenage brother. Thomas wasn't looking at him, his body cold and rigid. He was a still as a statue. He slowly got off the bed and cautiously approached Thomas.

"C'mon man. I wanna be cool. Ya get all the girls, and win a buncha fight, and, and..." He trailed off as His older brother pushed him aside and climbed into bed. He was acting in a way Jeremy had never seen him before. Thomas was avoiding his eyesight, fiddling with his hands and seemed so...nervous. No, Thomas was never nervous, he was his awesome older brother, and older brothers never get nervous! With that thought, Jeremy climbed up into the top bunk with his brother and tugged on his sleeve. Thomas met his eyes, seeing only eagerness and determination. He sighed and turned to Jeremy.

"Listen, you really wanna know? You won't tell Ma?"

Jeremy nodded frantically, holding out his pinkie finger. It was a childish gesture and he knew that, but it was the only one he knew Tommy would keep. The older boy chuckled and locked his pinkie with Jeremy's, his eyes darting around the room. After he was sure they were alone, Thomas started speaking.

"A'ight, but if I find out ya snitched, I'll beat ya black and blue." Thomas took a deep breath and started making wild gestures with his hands, continuing on with his speech.

"It's dis thing calling purgin'. So, basically, you eat sumthin' , right? And then, you throw it up and right after, you go exercise like no tomorrow. Ya just have to shove ya fingers down ya throat a couple times and it all comes up! Ya can also use that tactic to get outta school if ya want." Thomas said with a wink, seemingly excited to share this information. Jeremy nodded, taking mental notes.

"But ya gotta be careful. Ma's already caught me a couple times and she tried to make me stop. But I ain't gonna. It-it helped me loads! people use to make fun of me for my weight, now look at me! Ima ace on tracks, girls all over me, life couldn't be betta! It's really ok, you just have to get used to the hunger. It's lika sign you're losing weight! And if you're REALLY serious, I'll help ya hide it from her. Ya with me?" Thomas said and he stopped for a moment, looking over at Jeremy. The twelve-year-old shifted in his seat, thinking. Lyin' to his ma? He ain't never done it that much. The last time he did, he got smacked hard and grounded for what felt like weeks. But then again, Thomas wouldn't make him do something that would hurt him a lot, and even if it was a bit painful, it would be worth it right?

"OK. I'm with ya."

The two spent the rest of the evening in bed, with Thomas explaining calorie counting, bingeing, and purging to his younger brother.  
\--  
Eighteen-year-old Jeremy slammed the door to his bedroom, grumbling to himself. He stomped over to his bed and crawled underneath the blankets. What did his brothers know? They don't know anything about him! They act all concerned about him, tellin' him to eat and shit. They don't care, they just don't want ma on their asses. The teen sighed and laid on his back, taking deep breaths. He didn't mean to yell at them, but his brothers should have just minded their own business. So what if he didn't want any food? He never wanted food! He could go without it, as long as he drank enough water. Thomas told him so.

When he thought of his brother, Jeremy pulled the blankets closer around him. Thomas had died last summer. When he didn't show up at the track, his couch had sent someone to go find him. Well, they found him alright. Found him in his apartment, hanging from the ceiling fan with a note pinned to his chest. An article was even in the paper, mourning the loss of a champion track athlete. No one talked about how sick Thomas looked before he died, how his bones poked through his skin and how his hair fell out everytime he brushed it, or how the enamel of his teeth rotted away. Why remember a skeleton when you can remember a champion?

There was never a link to that and Thomas's purging, but his brother's loved to bring it up.

"Ya need to stop exercising' so much, ya gonna kill yourself like Thomas did."

"C'mon, even a lil' bit is betta than nothin'. It's what Thomas would 'have wanted."

"If ya don't get your act together and start eatin', ya gonna end up like Thomas did!"

Fuck them. They didn't know Thomas, and they don't know him! At that, Jeremy shot out of bed. He was going to confront them. What gave them the right to talk about Thomas like that? He was their brother too! Before he knew what he was doing, he was racing over to the bedroom door. He threw the door open and was met face to face with his mother. she looked she had been crying, eyeliner smudged and eyes puffy. His brothers stood behind her, not looking at him.

"Jeremy, honey. We need to talk.''  
\--  
twenty-year-old Jeremy was packing his items as quickly as he could. It was just his luck to wake up late on the first day of his new job. He had been hired by Mann co. to do what he did best, which was beat people into a bloody pulp and win. It was the only job he could get after he dropped out, besides fast food. A knock from his door drew his attention away from his hastily stuffed bag. His mom stood at the door, smiling and holding something behind her back. She walked into the room, looking around the almost empty room. 

"I can't believe ya finally leaving. All my little birds have flown the coop." She said, giggling. Her other seven sons have their own places, their own families and lives. He stayed because he lived without paying rent and free food. Jeremy laughed and went over to her, dragging his bag behind him. He set it beside the door and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. 

" 'Ey, ya can't get rid of me dat easy, ma. I'll call every week and make sure nobody's messin' with ya. And if dey is, I'll come down an' beat da shit outta em'." 

Jeremy's mother wrapped one arm around her youngest son, her other hand hiding something. Her son tried to get a peek, thinking it was a gift for him. He wasn't wrong. She pulled away from the hug and held out a small, tattered book. It was the family scrapbook. Jeremy was surprised to see it. He thought Douglas had taken it when he went to college. Ma was so proud.

"Holy shit... Is that?"

She nodded and sat on Jeremy's bed, patting the spot next to her. He hurried over and sat down next to her, leaning over to see the old book. His mom opened it tenderly, it's pages old and well loved. Each page was adorned with pictures big and small. Most were of his brothers and him, but there were a couple photos of his mom, back in her youth. There was even one of her and an unknown man, which gave him a funny feeling whenever he looked at it. Jeremy looked over her shoulder at the book, chuckling ever once and awhile. His mom, however, was quiet. She stopped on a certain page, letting her fingers drift to the picture. It had been taken a while back, but it seemed to still have an effect on her. His eyes followed his mother's hand to the picture and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

It was a seven-year-old Thomas, holding a bundle in his arms. On closer inspection, there was a tiny baby in the bundle and sleeping peacefully. Looking closer at the baby, he saw a familiar baby blanket. It dawned on Jeremy. That was him in Thomas's arms. He was in the very room they were in now and smiling brightly at the camera. Looking in the background, he saw in the bedroom mirror reflection, his ma and a vintage camera. Her mouth was frozen in a permanent smile. The date was sloppily written on the bottom, although the ink had faded so much you couldn't make it out.

The two people on the bed fell silent for a long while, just looking at the picture. It was only when a small, wet sounding laugh came from his mother that Jeremy looked at her. She was trembling, tears pouring from her eyes and a shaky smile on her face. The tough, confident women he knew and looked up to disappeared, if only for a moment. Her hands gently took the photograph out of the book, the glue of the back giving way easily. 

"When you were born, Thomas was so happy. He didn't want to be the youngest and when you came around, he got his wish. Maybe he was mean to ya at times, but he really did love you..." Jeremy's mother trailed off, holding the photo out to her son. 

"If I give you this, I want you to promise me something. Never, and I mean NEVER, starve yourself again. A-and NEVER makes yourself throw up. Please...i-i can't lose a-another-" 

She broke down before she finished her sentence, throwing her arms around her son's shoulder. She cried into him, her body convulsing with every sob. Her tears soaked the shoulder of his new uniform, but her son didn't care. Jeremy swallowed thickly, wrapping his thin arms around his mother as he let go of a few tears himself. He could hear his mother say her earlier words over and over, but he couldn't bring himself to talk. He knew if he did, he'd be crying like his mother. The Boston man gently took the photo from his crying mom's hands and opened his wallet, putting it in there. Then he set it aside and focused on his mother. He caused her this pain, the least he could do was comfort her during it.

It seemed like hours before his mother stopped crying. When she finally pulled away, it was half past nine and too late to catch the train to his new job. If he hurried, he could get a cab halfway and arrive tomorrow, late afternoon. But fuck that, he'd leave tomorrow. His mother was more important than a job. He stayed despite her protests, making her comfromble as possible. The pair of them stayed up all night, going through old baby photos and laughing at old times. At one point or another, Jeremy had fallen asleep. He awoke at four AM the next day, still in his old bed and a bundle on top of his bag(which had been organized overnight). The Boston man picked it up and looking at it made his throat close up. His baby blanket, old and tattered, was wrapped delicately around the scrapbook. It was a touching moment for the young man and if he had the time, he wouldn't want it to end. But he didn't. If Jeremy wanted to get money, he had to get to his job. He didn't want to get fired before he even started.

Jeremy snuck out the bedroom, his bag over his shoulder and holding the precious package to his chest. He tipped-toed down the hall, peeking into his mother's room to check in on her. She wasn't there. For a second, Jeremy was confused. That was until he heard movement in the living room. Looking around the corner, he saw his mother curled up under a thick blanket, asleep on the couch. Her alarm clock was plugged in beside her and by the looks of it, she had passed out only hours beforehand. He knew that she would wake up in a few hours to an empty house and a day full of annoying customers. The young man went over and planted on soft kiss on his mother's wrinkled forehead, pushing her hair away from her face. He then walked over to the door, turning around for one last look. He whispered three words under his breath.  
"I promise Ma."

And with that, Jeremy, now the Scout, left his childhood home.  
=======================================================

Scout forced himself away from the toilet bowl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Needless to say, he didn't keep his promise. The evidence was right in front of him. He tried, he really did. But being surrounded by older, tougher men always put pressure on the Boston boy, and Miss Pauling entered the picture...god, he just wanted to be perfect. Perfect for his team, perfect for her. Then everything would be ok, right? His Ma would be so disappointed in him. Thomas would be disappointed in him. The young man flinched at that thought, leaning over to flush the toilet. All his shame was washed away in one swoop. Now no one would know.

Pushing himself up from the tiled floor, Scout stumbled over to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Damn, he was a mess. Red eyes, runny nose, vomit and barbecue sauce around his mouth. He looked like he was straight out of a horror movie. Nothing a quick rinse won't fix. Turning on the sink and splashing cold water seemed to wake the young man up. He honestly felt better now that he was empty. He didn't have to worry about calories anytime soon. Scout took a few moments to collect and make himself presentable. If anyone asked, he'll just say he got some bad news over the phone. The rest of the night would be spent carefree-as long as he didn't eat.

Scout unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. To his surprise and horror, someone was right there. Their Spy, looking angrier than Scout had ever seen him before, was seemingly waiting for him. Several cigarette butts lay on the floor and a musky scent filled the air. He must have been there for a while. Spy rose a questioning eyebrow at Scout. Did he know? Scout glared at the French man, before pushing him aside. It was not his business. Before Scout could get too far, however, Spy grabbed him roughly by the arm, pulling him closer.

"Where in ze world do you think you're going?"

Scout looked back, trying to pull his arm away. Despite his looks, Spy was quite strong.  
"Where do ya think, Frog boy? Back to da BBQ."

Spy shook his head, suddenly yanking The younger man down the hall, basically dragging him at this point.

"Oh no, Mon Ami. You and I, we are going to 'ave a little talk."

Scout did not like the sound of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally updated! This was originally going to be two chapters, but as I was writing this chapter, I realized this wouldn't be a good ending if I ended it like this. So I'm adding a third chapter. Have fun reading and thank you to everyone for your supportive comments!

Scout stumbled along behind the Spy, his mind blocking out the grumbling of the man in front of him. He found out. Despite all his best efforts, the sneaky french bastard found out. He had been so careful, making sure not to leave behind evidence, to make sure no one even knew, and now it was out in the open. Hell, he'd even managed to fool Medic! The German man was usually so good at his job, but with enough lies and convincing, Medic never suspected a thing. Maybe he did and he just didn't care enough. Personally, Scout was proud of himself but now didn't know which was worst, the burning in the back of his throat or not knowing what Spy would do. The man was unpredictable and hard to read, so unlike the rest of the team. With them, he could tell if they were happy or sad or angry with him. But Spy was one sneaky mother fucker. A cold jolt raced down Scout's spine. Would he tell them? Would Spy blackmail him? He wouldn't put it past the bastard, god knows what kind of other dirt he has. It was probably the only reason the rest of the team kept him around.

The young man's mind was pulled back in unfortunate reality when he crashed into Spy's back. Apparently, they had arrived at where ever the frenchie had taken them. Looking around him, the Boston man recognized the familiar doorway. They were at Spy's smoking room. Scout had only been there once before and that was to ask for help about a certain glasses wearing lady. It also almost resulted in him nearly getting his head crushed by a door. Why Spy brought him here, he didn't know. Maybe to make sure no heard Spy and his insults. Stupid cuck.

The man in front of him was oddly silent, flicking away his cigarette butt. Scout absentmindedly noted the teeth marks indented into the used butt as Spy pushed open the door. The familiar smell of fancy wine and old paper hit the young man in a wave. He internally cringed, nervously fiddling with his hand wraps. He needed to change them soon, the sweat and stomach bile soaking through them. It was frankly disgusting.

"Scout, if you will please go inside. I will be with you in a minute." Spy said quietly, his voice soft and comforting. It made the aforementioned runner uncomfortable. The once cold and calculating man was acting kind and fatherly, something that didn't suit the French man at all.

_"Jeremy, Honey, we need to talk."_

"No fuckin' way, man. If you think I'm gonna go in there willingly, you're more of a dumbass than I thought." Scout said stubbornly, crossing his arms. Who did Spy think he was, ordering him around? He wasn't some little kid and he could do what he wanted. Spy huffed and rubbed the sides of his temple, turning around the face his teammate. He took a deep breath as if he was trying not to snap at him. It only added to the list of red flags.

"Just get in the room. We can talk about what happened when I come back." Spy mumbled, taking out another cigarette. He quickly lights it up and inhales deeply. If Scout had known better, he'd say the motherfucker was trying to eat it.

"Why should I? I didn't do jack shit. In fact you c-"

"Scout, get in ze fucking room or so help me, I will stab you!" Spy yelled suddenly, snatching his team mate's arms and pushing him into the room. Scout, not wanting to see if Spy was being serious about his threat, entered the room.

It looked the same as it did before, albeit some new paintings on the wall and the latest addition of Dapper Cadaver. The fireplace crackled welcomely and a half-eaten plate of food sat next to the armchair. Scout's stomach churned just thinking about food but at the same time, it was the only thing he wanted at the moment. He heard a click from behind him and turned around. The door was closed. Spy was probably off to tell the team about him and that they needed a new scout. God, that would be just like him. Besides, he would just deny it. It wouldn't be hard. He was the picture of perfect health, a lean, mean, fighting machine. He was almost, if not stronger, than Heavy. Sure, he was getting thinner, but that's a good sign! That meant to was getting in shape! Yeah, they wouldn't believe him. The team would just laugh in his face and if Scout was lucky, maybe Pyro would light him up like one of the frenchie's damn cigarettes. They'd tell him about it, and he would just laugh. They would all laugh about it together and never speak of it again.

 

So, why was he still waiting?

 

What was keeping him in the armchair?

 

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. Scout hadn't realized it, but Spy was back. His teammate stood at the door, tentatively holding the knob. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth and an unlit one in his hand. He was fiddling with the unlit one, spinning it in between his fingers. He couldn't meet Scout's eye, instead ushering his guest into the room.

 

Oh HELL no.

 

"What the fuck is Medic doing here?" Scout asked, jumping up from his chair. Ignoring his light-headedness, he stomped over to the two men.

"What do you think, Scout?" Spy said dryly, raising an eyebrow. God, how could one man have such a punchable face? Medic himself looked rather uncomfortable, looking around the room and fiddling with his bright red gloves. Scout groaned and rubbed his face. Great, another teammate to learn his habit. They might not believe Spy, but the team would definitely believe Medic since it was supposedly a medical issue.

"Ze Spy has informed me of vhat happened, But i vant to hear from you, Scout." Medic spoke calmly, striding into the room. He stood near the fireplace as Spy closed the door behind them. Scout heard the lock slid into place. Fuck.

"Vas it true you were making yourself throw up?" Medic asked softly, leaning forward slightly. Scout glanced over the medical man and looking down at his hands, nodded. The German sighed.

"Vhere you feeling unvell? I know Herr Engineer's cooking can sometimes cause zhat. I remember one time I-"

"Zhat is not the cause, you incompetent man!" Spy suddenly yelled, gritting his teeth. He was glaring at Medic. His hands were clenched tight and his breathing was hard like he was holding back words. All Medic did was raise an eyebrow.

"I'm talking to Scout, Spy." Scout snickered at Medic's dismissal of his least favorite person. Medic glanced over at him and smiled, pushing his glasses up on his face.

"Herr Scout, next time you are feeling unvell, just pull me aside! I don't mind helping you. Making yourself throw up can damage your throat and possibly your lungs. We wouldn't want that, would we?" Medic chuckled. Scout nodded along, a grin coming along his face. Thank god. Medic just thought of it as a one-off situation. He glanced over at his French teammate. Spy was bright red, his face looking like a part of his suit. It was almost laughable. Almost.

"Besides zhat, there iz nothing to worry about. If you have a sore stomach, I'll give you some Tums, Ja?" Medic said as he started walking away, he was about to undo the door when Spy roughly placed a hand on his chest. The French man quickly wiped something out and for a second, Scout thought he brandished his knife. It was actually a small notepad. It was quickly opened and Spy started reading its contents.

"June 12, 8:43 am, leaves the table to the bathroom, does not return until 8:59 am with considerable bad breath. 1:31 pm, skips lunch. 7:20, doesn't eat, drinks plenty of energy drinks."

Another couple pages flipped.

"July 6, does not eat breakfast, does not eat lunch, but eats dinner, even had seconds. Leaves table less than five minutes later and is not seen for the rest of the night. If I recall correctly, Doctor, that was the same day a bottle of laxatives went missing from your infirmary."

Scout bristled and jumped up from the armchair. He stomped over the Spy, snatching the notebook from him.

"What the fuck! Have you been watchin' me, you creep!" Scout shouted, looking at the pages. He was. Page after page was notes about Scout and his eating habits. When he leaves the tables, showing "symptoms", or uses the bathroom. If he had his bat, he'd bash the fucking frog's head in.

"Scout, may I see zhat notebook?" Medic asked calmly. The youngest member looked from to Medic, to Spy, to the notepad. Then he looked at the fireplace. Its insides were still crackling happily, glowing brightly in the dimly lit room. He gripped the notes tighter.

"You have...NO fuckin' business spyin' on me..." Scout pushed out in his anger, glaring daggers into his fellow teammate. All Spy did was shrug, flicking his cigarette butt into a trashcan. Medic slowly held his hand out to Scout. He had a concerned and serious look on his normally maniacal face.

"Scout. Zhe notebook."

Despite the fact Medic was trying not to intimidate Scout, he was failing miserably at it. The world was crashing down around Scout, crowding him, and suddenly he was Jeremy again. He was the young boy listening to Thomas argue with his mother about eating habits. He was the teenager running around the block, avoiding the dark looks of druggies and streetwalkers. He was the young man holding onto an old photo album like a lifeline as he waited for the train. He was the weak link, the lost cause.

That was it.

Before either team member could react, Scout ran across the room, pushing Medic aside with a surprising force. He tossed the horrible evidence into the fire, watching as the notepad went up in flames.

"No!" Spy gasped, running over to the fireplace where Scout stood triumph. He looked devastated, scanning the flames. 'Serves him right.' Scout thought smugly. He smirked and turned away, stalking past a surprised Medic. He undid the lock to the door and as he opened it, he looked back to his teammates. Spy was busy putting out the fire, possibly trying to salvage something from his efforts. Medic was staring at Scout, eyebrows raised to his forehead.

"Next time, frog, don't follow me. Stay the fuck outta my business." Scout growled and holding the middle to Spy, walked out. He slammed the door behind him, feeling oddly satisfied by the noise it made. As the Boston man walked down the hall, he smiled. Scout felt good like he did something worthwhile.

As he arrived at his room, a wave of lightheadedness hit him. He groaned and unlocked his door, stumbling into the small room.

'Block it out, block it out...' Scout thought, looking around the tiny room.

A military bed, a small dresser, and a bedside table were all it had. He had hung up posters and changed the thin blankets to get a more homey feel, but nothing worked. He even used his shotgun to blow a hole in the wall, making something resembling a window. Not his best idea, but he was glad for it now, for the cool breeze in the room made him feel just a tad safer. The sunset provided the only light in the room, casting heavy shadows. Taking a few steps in the room, Scout felt winded and closed the door behind him. Something wasn't right.

Everything hurt and felt fuzzy. The furniture spun around the young man as he fell to the floor. Scout dry-heaved on his hands and knees. His stomach grumbled, trying to produce something to throw up, but there was only stomach acid. Slowly making his way to the bed, Scout closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the stress of the situation take over and tire him out. He collapsed on the ground, the cool hardwood floor against his flushed skin feeling like heaven. His heart thumped irregularly in his chest, but Scout was used to this. It didn't interfere with his exercises too much, but at times like these, it was almost unbearable. It was painful, yes, but it was a good price for him to pay so he could achieve the perfect body.

Right?

Scout blacked out on the floor, just a few feet away from his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the tags, summary, and title, this story focuses on Scout's eating disorder. This is not to romanticise or glorify it. If you or someone you know is dealing with an eating disorder, I'll leave sites you can visit and numbers you can visit below.
> 
> \- http://www.waldeneatingdisorders.com/eating-disorder-treatment/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwz93cBRCrARIsAEFbWsi_T64I1RwU7H6lHZcnp-bt_REkCWgSozH6Ia9HC4v_tbYrVEUNgRMaAnD5EALw_wcB
> 
> \- https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
> 
> \- https://www.bulimia.com/topics/eating-disorder-hotline/


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